Snowed In

by August, Adira

  Snowed In:

  Hunt&Cam4Ever #4

  written by

  Adira August

  Copyright © 2017 Adira August

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction.

  Names, characters, places,

  products, locations and incidents

  are wholly sprung from the author’s

  imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Author’s Note:

  I believe all my titles can be read stand-alone. Except for this one. If you like BDSM sex and that’s all you're looking for, this book will be okay, I suppose.

  But if you are looking for character and relationship and arc, you’ll want to read the first three Hunt and Cam books, starting with On His Knees.

  AND: What would I do without Tanja Ongkiehong? The so-smart, hardest-working proofreader/editor around? I’ll tell you what: keep giving my readers typo-laden titles. God bless her, so seriously.

  And you, too.

  addi-

  OTHER BOOKS IN THE Hunt&Cam4Ever SERIES

  ON AMAZON

  Wednesday Nov 30th

  4:28am

  “Why don’t you get started, I have to hit the head. Which is …?” Cam had already disappeared into one of the offices along the darkened hallway.

  Dragging the heavy briefcase with the evidence along, he found the door.

  He cupped his hands under the cold water. The scent of dark roast … Cam had made coffee … the ding of the elevator accompanied the blaring music …

  I picture you with matchstick men … the Colt was in his hands … I look for you, I see you when … he pivoted into the hall … You rush to lie in bed with him… a revolver held out pivoted toward Cam frozen in the hallway with a mug in his hand. Steam rising into the air …

  “Runnn!” he screamed. Cam couldn’t hear him over the music.

  And with him you’re the matchstick men … his first round hit between the shoulder blades …. the revolver spun away on its cylinder to stop amongst white shards of a broken ceramic mug…

  Cam writhed in agony; arterial spray arced from wall to ceiling to wall. Two minutes. He has less than two minutes. He leapt on Cam … both hands pressed down to stop the blood. Cam screamed.

  “You’re supposed to save me,” Cam wept … blood gushed … “Please, Hunter, please!”

  His hands slipped off in the blood. Desperately he pressed again. Cam looked behind him, eyes huge with terror.

  The killer was kneeling behind and to his left … stringy hair like flailing tentacles, the gun pointed at Cam’s head … he couldn’t let go of Cam’s leg … click of cylinder turning …

  “Hunter! Hunter, please!” Cam was too far away to grab - screaming - writhing - arterial spray spattered and pooled across the floor - Hunter scrambled for Cam and sank into the blood, he couldn’t catch the edge of the floor to stop himself BANG!BANG!BANG! Cam was dead Cam was dead Cam was dead ...

  4:34am

  Hunter Dane came awake suddenly in pitch darkness … something … a dream … gone.

  Slowly he became aware he was curled on his side with his butt snugged up against Cam’s hip. For a few moments, all he knew was a feeling of safety and completion. The feelings surprised Hunt, who had never slept with anyone, until Camden Snow.

  He smiled to himself, a thirty-five year old domestic virgin.

  Until a few weeks ago, he’d been another kind of virgin. Cam had also ended that. The memory prodded his half-staff almost morning wood into a lodgepole pine. It was nice, being full and hard and half-asleep next to his lover. He smiled with his eyes closed.

  There was no point in opening them. Cam’s bedroom loft was pitch back at night, far removed from city lights. Unless there was a moon. There were no curtains over the floor-to-ceiling window walls of the huge A-frame in the Colorado foothills. Moonlight through the thin air at altitude lit up the interior in grayscale, as it journeyed across the sky.

  But not tonight. Not with the sky and landscape blotted out by the blizzard, while they slept in the quiet darkness.

  Quiet.

  Had the blizzard ended? When he’d gone to bed the wind was roaring through the trees, shrieking in the eves. Hunt had wondered how he’d fall asleep with the volume of the storm.

  He listened carefully. No, there it was—a tsunami of wind and snow ten feet over his head, muffled into a rush and moan by what must be a deep blanket of snow on the roof.

  Hunter reached for his cell on the nightstand to get the time. Not there. Right. He brought his arm back under the comforter. His phone was locked in his Bronco for the duration of his days off. And his Bronco was surely buried under a drift in Cam’s driveway.

  No chance dispatch could reach him. No bodies, no crime scenes, no politics. No one shooting at him.

  No one he had to shoot.

  Hunt rolled onto his back and sent a prayer of thanks for the storm to whatever gods might be listening. It was the storm that allowed him respite: feet on feet of snow blanketing the foothills, rendering the roads impassable. A speck in a snowbound wilderness, Hunter was at peace. At least for a few days.

  Beside him, Cam shifted. Hunter knew he didn’t sleep well on his back. He had no choice because of the hip-to-ankle cast on his left leg acquired after a bullet shattered his femur.

  The bullet Hunter hadn’t been able to stop.

  He resisted the urge to roll over and throw an arm over Cam’s strong, solid body, tuck his fingers in under Cam’s waist and snug his now half-mast cock into the valley where Cam’s thigh met the mattress. It would wake him, and he needed to sleep.

  Coming in late from working in his studio, Cam had brought the scent of snow and cold and the solvent he used to clean his brushes. Hunter’d been half-awake when Cam slid into bed later, warm with new scents from his shower. He wriggled around under the comforter until his hip touched Hunt, placed a wide, warm hand over Hunter’s drowsy cock, and drifted off.

  Hunt wondered at the concatenation of events that brought him to the bed of a 24-year-old Olympic Alpine ski champion. Detective Lieutenant Hunter Dane was dark and damaged and no one of note, except perhaps to a few he’d served well. Camden Snow was a 7-medal national treasure—handsome, winsome, charming, shy.

  The pairing was inexplicable. Ludicrous.

  But Cam was the only man Hunt had ever wanted, a relentlessly demanding Dom who’d stripped him of every defense. Who cared for him and brooked no bullshit from him. A sweet kid, a fearless competitor. A talented artist. A notorious BDSM Alpha male.

  Camden Snow could have anyone. At the club, he had only to nod in the direction of a sub and that man would fall to his knees—if he didn’t flee. Full Metal Dom, they’d dubbed Cam.

  But from the moment they’d laid eyes on each other over two years before, both men knew someday Hunt would kneel for Cam.

  As he relaxed back into sleep, the memories washed over Hunter: the worst case of his career, finding Cam at the club, dropping to his knees just inside the entranceway.

  Cam with both hands inside Hunter’s cargoes, working him in front of the onlookers.

  Hunter buffeted by humiliation and unbearable arousal …

  Holding him, stroking him, Cam touched his lips to Hunter’s ear. He spoke without force. “There are no limits. You have no safeword. You do nothing I do not order. I don’t stop until I’m done.”

  Hunt’s right hand inside his pajama pants tightened on his cock. Precum slid over his fingers.

  “You have one chance to walk away. Once I restrain you, nothing and no one can or will rescue you. I am all there is.”

  He moved down, cupping his balls with his fingers, thumb stroking his taut shaft.

  Cam thumbed his slit, circled the rim. Hunter couldn’t repress the mo
an. He felt Cam’s lips at his ear again. His warm breath scattered Hunt’s thoughts.

  “Open your -”

  A strong hand clamped down on Hunt’s.

  “Need something, Hunter?”

  Cam had a vise grip on him; he couldn’t move. “Sorry I woke you.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  Cam rolled up onto his elbow. “You’re in my way.” He loosened just long enough for Hunt to pull his hand away. Cam tightened down, feeling the pulse in Hunter’s substantial thickness. He didn’t need to see Hunter’s face to know his harsh breaths came from parted lips.

  “I’m not going to ask you again, Hunter.”

  He didn’t shout or snarl or harden his voice. Camden Snow didn’t have to. He just … informed.

  Hunter knew there was only Cam’s way, or Cam’s way. There were no highways to take. He would comply, or Cam would act.

  Both options made his stomach hollow and the itching heat behind his sac deepen. His cock would have jumped if Cam’s hand allowed any movement. The hand left him to toss the comforter off the bed. Pull the pillow out from under Hunter’s head.

  Taking hold of Hunter again, Cam skated a thumb around his ridge, spreading the precum Hunt always poured when Cam touched him. Camden Snow’s interest at this point was not sexual. Hunter needed something from him. Cam would know what that was.

  Hunt uttered a low mewling sound. But did not answer Cam’s question.

  The fist in his hair bent Hunter’s head back into the mattress. Cam’s other hand slid down over Hunter’s balls. Thumb pressed in front, fingertips nestled underneath, Cam twisted.

  “Ah! God!” Hunter shouted, his hips jerked, to rise, shift, escape - but Cam held him fast. Hunter’s hands flew to his crotch.

  “Hands on the mattress,” Cam told him.

  Shit! Hunter froze. “Cam!”

  “Now.”

  Cam rotated the pad of his thumb.

  With a high whine, Hunter slammed his hands down next to his hips. Cam did not let up.

  Hunter lay back, panting, open, completely at the mercy of the sadist who knew none. His way. Or his way.

  “Open your legs, Hunter.”

  Hunt’s protesting groan made Cam’s dick jump and throb, the head jammed into the elastic waist of the sweat pants he slept in. When Hunter’s knees fell open in submission, Cam almost came. He fought for control; this was not about him.

  “You were about to say?” Cam asked.

  “I was … thinking … about … the first time … at the club …”

  The hot spikes of pain digging into Hunt backed off only slightly. Cam’s hand remained—a cat holding down a mouse, claws sheathed.

  “About when I … fuck … knelt … for you. When I knelt for you.”

  Cam untwisted, massaging, outlining each sore testicle with his fingers. His sub’s hot shaft pressed the inside of Cam’s wrist. He sought under Hunt’s sac for the fiery roots of his erection, pressed and stroked and was rewarded with a guttural stutter in Hunter’s breath.

  Hot wires ran back between Hunt’s legs to his hole, up from his balls into his gut. Something … something tingling at the base of his spine, spreading. But he did not buck or twist or shift away. He accepted whatever Cam chose to give him.

  Blindfolded by the night, Hunter’s world was heat and pain and need created by the hand between his legs and the fist in his hair pinning his head back, neck stretched, mouth open, gasping for air.

  It was perfect.

  Cam fed his sub’s ache and fire while he entertained himself asserting his ownership. Hunter would tell him what he wanted to know. He lifted and rolled Hunter, using his dick and his neck for handholds, bringing him up onto his own body.

  It was a signature Cam move, the confident action of a very strong man.

  “Which part were you thinking about?” Cam asked, rubbing his bristly cheek against the side of Hunt’s neck and over his ear.

  Cam reached for the bedside lamp. A pool of soft light enveloped them. Hunter’s forehead rested on Cam’s chest, his hands on the mattress kept his body angled up. He looked down between their bodies, to his dripping cockhead jammed back against Cam’s fingers.

  “In the foyer,” Hunter whispered. “At the beginning.”

  Cam lowered Hunt’s zipper … his erection shouldered through the opening … Cam caught him, wrapped his hand, calloused by the torque of a million ski pole grips, around Hunt’s thick, hard cock. Fingers tightened. Not tight enough. More powerful for that. Hunter swallowed a moan.

  “Spread,” Cam ordered.

  Hunter’s legs opened and slid off Cam’s body to rest on the mattress.

  “On me,” Cam told him. Hunter lowered himself as Cam’s free hand glided over his waist, inside his pants, down his abdomen …

  “You mean this?”

  Cam’s two big hands surrounded him, working him, to make Hunter hot and tight and hard and wired. …

  Hunter panted. “Ye- Cam … yeh-”

  “Where was your mouth?”

  “Mouth on my shoulder.”

  Gratefully, he bent his head. Cam’s shoulder. Wide and deep.

  Hunter’s head dropped, he panted against Cam’s white T-shirt.

  “Open your mouth. Wide. I want to hear you pant.”

  Shit.

  His mouth opened over the curve of Cam’s shoulder … With every agonizingly delicious slide and squeeze of his hands, Cam’s shoulder became wetter. Hotter. There was no control; Hunt could barely swallow.

  “Arms, Hunter.”

  His arms hung useless. Cam hadn’t told him to do anything with them.

  “That’s right,” Cam said as Hunter went completely limp on top of him. Pushing his sweats down, Cam rubbed Hunt’s rigid cock, sticky-slick with precum, against his own.

  “Tell me what comes next, Hunter.”

  A long hesitation. Hunter strained against Cam’s erection. “The yoke.”

  “Why the yoke?”

  “So - so you can flog me.”

  Cam stopped moving, holding Hunt still. “Before all that, before you started beating off, what were you thinking?”

  “I don’t … please …” He tried to push into Cam’s motionless fist. No good.

  “Think, Hunter.”

  “I just woke up. I was … was feeling good.”

  “Horny?”

  “No, like, content. Here with you. Safe inside the storm. Away from … all the crap of the last few weeks.”

  There it was. Cam started in on Hunter again and felt his legs stiffen.

  “Fuck. I’m going to come.”

  “Well, one of us is going to come,” Cam told him. “But it’s not going to be you.”

  Hunter groaned and trembled.

  “Jesus, you went forged-steel on me.” Cam moved his hands over Hunter’s body: hips and butt, backs and sides of his thighs, calming and gentling. “Be still.” He needed to think.

  “Safe inside the storm.”

  Not safe from the storm, but safe inside of it. Isolated. Buried. But Hunter wasn’t safe; he’d brought his demons with him.

  Cam knew what Hunter apparently did not: that before he woke he was having a terrible nightmare, shouting and twisting. Cam had spoken quietly to him until he’d quieted. And even in the pitch dark, Cam knew when Hunter woke up.

  A month ago, on the night Hunter was remembering, Cam had been inside of him, holding him, naked and raw, when the monstrous realities he buried to get to the end of his case clawed their way out in a screaming, roaring, shuddering agony that had nothing whatsoever to do with sex.

  That had come a few days later, in this bed. Cam had broken him, then, too. Gently, skillfully, just as relentlessly, Cam brought them both to ecstasy. He was the only man who’d ever owned Hunter Dane.

  What Hunt had gone through recently hadn’t been as horrific, but it was here with them. They’d be trapped for days. And with no distractions, his demons would gnaw away at Hunter until his very skin would seem to
o small.

  But Cam had to deal with the man under his hands, in this moment.

  “Look at me,” Cam said, making his voice clear and loud.

  Hunter raised his head, his eyes dark and unfocused.

  With his hands on either side of the face of the man he loved, Cam brushed back his hair and smoothed his dark wings of brows.

  “I’m in a lot of pain, Hunter, and I don’t have my meds.” He could see Hunter’s eyes clear, a rush of adrenaline obliterating the effects of endorphins and enkephalins.

  Hunt frowned and pushed himself carefully away from Cam, rolling off the bed to standing position. “Don’t move.”

  He strode quickly across the room, his stiff member bobbing and weaving like a drunken fighter. He disappeared into the bathroom, an in-home spa bigger than the bedroom it adjoined.

  Cam pushed himself up against the headboard, watching for Hunter to come back—the most beautiful man he’d ever seen. Dark and graceful, subtle shadows and streaks of light over long muscles, smoothly sculpted. An uncut cock that was technically a little big, but fit his 6’2” frame perfectly. Hunter Dane’s body was one of Cam’s most cherished gifts.

  But he wanted more than Hunter’s body. He wanted the thing Hunt had told him he could never give.

  “I can’t be what you want me to be … I don’t crave anyone’s company if they aren’t present. I’m not bothered by longings for the presence of a particular person. I don’t—connect.”

  “You’re saying you don’t love,” Cam told him.

  “Love is something we do, Cam. Whatever subjective feelings we have about someone that people call love are just that, subjective feelings. … I care for people, in that I do things for their benefit. I just don’t do all the other things. …touch someone just to touch them, when it serves no other purpose…”

  But they had connected. Still, Hunter held himself back. He kept the dark places from Cam, the places that spawned his nightmares.

  And Cam wouldn’t settle for only part of Hunter Dane.

  Hunt appeared with a bottle of water and Cam’s prescription vial, his dick tucked inside his pajama bottoms. He put the items on Cam’s nightstand and retrieved the comforter from the floor. Shaking it out over the bed, he let it settle over Cam.